Evil Chocolate
by Charlie Winchester
Summary: Peter Petrelli hated chocolate. Paire.


**Evil Chocolate**

_Hehe. Pure fluffy goodness. Virtual Reese Bites to those who review. Little purple button produces chocolate, didn't you know._

_Claire is eighteen._

- - -

Peter Petrelli hated chocolate.

He didn't know why, but he seemed to be one of the precious few individuals on the planet who just plain despised the taste, the texture, the smell, and everything possible else about it. Peter was… more of a candy person. You know, like coke bottles.

He was addicted to the little gummy coke bottles. Insanely, unhealthily addicted.

Whatever the reason, Peter hated, hated, _hated _chocolate.

So, when he walked into his apartment one afternoon after having gone to Isaac's and encountered Claire sprawled lazily on his couch eating said confection, it was only rational that he immediately order her- or the Reese Bites- out. Right?

Not.

Instead he stopped. And stared. And stared some more.

Finally her head popped up and with a sheepish grin, she said, "Hi. How was Isaac?" All the while sucking on something that looked _really _good, which sloshed her words a bit; but since he could do nothing other than stand there stupidly and gaze at her lips, he got it all without a problem.

"Earth to Peter," Claire teased, wildly waving one arm in the air from fifteen feet away to get his attention. Her other hand dipped down into a bright orange plastic bag and came back up with a palm full of… _chocolate balls_? "Hey, Peter, you in there somewhere?"

Peter blinked to clear his thoughts. _Bad Peter. Bad, bad, bad Peter. _

"What?"

With a strange expression tossed in his direction, Claire opened her hand and placed a chocolate in her mouth and chewed. "What's wrong with you?"

_Oh, nothing._

He stammered something about still being in one of Isaac's trances and being tired and still refused to move.

Probably because Claire eating chocolate was _seriously _one of the most erotic things he'd ever seen in his entire life. Maybe it was the way her tongue darted out to taste each Bite before it disappeared forever. Maybe it was the way her lips looked fuller as she sucked gently on it.

It didn't matter what it was; it was really, _really_…

_NO! BAD Peter._

…sexy…

"Well?" Claire was smiling invitingly, beckoning to the couch. "What do you say?"

_Baby, you sure don't have to ask me twice._

Peter snapped to attention. "Hmm?"

She growled at him. "Why aren't you listening to me?"

_Ohhhhmannnn…_

He wasn't even going to_ try _explaining that one to her. "I'm sorry. What? I promise I'll listen this time." Thank god, she had ceased eating the chocolate for at least a little while. He needed to keep her talking. Talking was good. Talking was safe.

Talking was boring.

"I said," Claire reiterated, "do you wanna try one?"

Not safe. So, so, _so _not safe.

He shrugged. Ignored his conscience. "Are they good?" And started forward, sitting beside her on the sofa. She pulled her legs underneath her to make room for him, holding out her hand with big, innocent eyes.

_Oh, this is _such _a bad idea._

"Peter, they're like tasting heaven in your mouth. Quit stalling and eat one. It's not going to kill you," Claire directed him, a bit exasperated. "Come on."

Reluctantly, he gave in. "You got me. I'll try one."

"Open your mouth."

He complied. And watched in slow motion as she leaned forward and fed him one.

Her face was bright and expectant as she waited for his reaction.

Dammit, he hated it when she was right. His thoughts had gone from _only for you would I eat chocolate _to _I would eat chocolate for you forever _in like, two seconds flat.

It was _good_.

He decided to toy with her a little for revenge, even though it wasn't really fair because she didn't know she was torturing him. Too bad. So, frowning, he said, "I don't know. It's almost- too much."

"Oh, bite me," Claire glared at him. "How is it, really?"

"Fantastic," Peter mumbled, and covered her lips with his in even _less _than two seconds, leaning forward and lightly cupping her elbows in his hands. She responded eagerly, scooting forward, kissing him, tilting her head, opening her mouth for his exploration.

She tasted of peanut butter and chocolate, sweet and inviting, and far too tempting. Waves of desire coursed through his body when she shifted and her hips bumped against his. He knew he shouldn't, knew it was a bad idea, but how could any and all premonitions that it was a bad idea were shot to hell almost instantly, because honestly, how did such a bad idea feel _so damn good_?

He groaned at her fingers playing with his hair, while he, in turn, slid his to the ends of the soft blonde curls swishing around her shoulders. Her lips were warm and yielding, offering no objection to his sudden, rapturous attack on her mouth.

It was wrong. It was wrong. Something had to go wrong at any moment. Nothing human should have felt this good, but it did, and oh, he felt so guilty, and touched his tongue to hers anyway and she sank into his waiting arms. He settled back into the pillows smothering the end of the sofa, and the silky fabric cushioned his position. Her tank rode up slightly, exposing skin that was just as soft as her hair, flawless and smooth. His fingers danced across the small of her back, skimming up under the material and back down. She stiffened for a moment and grinned at him. Placed a kiss on his stubbled jaw. Began working on the buttons of his dress shirt.

Peter Petrelli _loved _chocolate.


End file.
